Pretty
by Eitten
Summary: The year is 1956 and there is only one thought going through every pageant contestants mind...


_Eh... I dont know. My brain juices were just tingling_

* * *

_I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty. _

_I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty. _

_I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty. _

It is said if you say something repetitively enough it becomes true and as these contestants recite their mantra they expose their wishes to the universe. All want the sash, all want the crown, all want to the title. The money is nothing compared to the ability to tell everyone that you are the prettiest girl in all of Sweden.

_I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty. _

_I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty. _

_I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty. _

Serveta stares at her vanity as she nervously picks at her finger nails.

"I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty" she chants to herself. She was so nervous, but she wants the crown and the cash so there was no way in Helheim she is going to walk away from this pageant like it was a third grade spelling bee. She looks around at the other contestants and focuses on their blemishes and flaws. Some are too thin and some are too fat, some are too tall and others too short, oily skin, too much make up, unsymmetrical faces, Ugly, ugly ugly. The blemishes of others help her calm down, and focus on her perfections. She returns her gaze to her vanity and smiles. She was always told she had such a pretty smile and the way her nose wrinkled just a little would swoon any male.

She began applying her make up ignoring the other uglies in the same room. She has this thing in the palm of her hand. She puckers her perfectly plump lips at her reflection and blows herself kiss. She would honestly fuck herself, that's how hot she was. She brushes her beautiful blonde hair back and begins to pin it up. It was the swimsuit competition, so she wants to look flawless. She was never going to be an ugly.

"I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty" She repeats her mantra as if it is a prayer.

When the bright flash of camera's go off and crowd cheers Serveta feels truly alive. She winks and waves on cue as she graciously walks and twirls. The crowd loves her and she shows her appreciation. Her perfect hour glass figure is accentuated by her Sailor styled two piece. She even has a matching hat that was blue with golden yellow buttons that travel around it. The judges love to see a patriotic contestant and she plays the part well. As she exits she gives a parting wink and blows pink glossed kisses to the crowed.

You know you are one of the toughest competitors when everyone in the dressing room avoids and stares at you as if you were a leper. The tension in the room was so thick you could not even spread it on toast. Serveta is hated. She is too good and she knows it. She gives her fellow contestants a soft smile and turns to her vanity.

"I am pretty, I am pretty, I am pretty" The mantra spews from her lips like a waterfall of strawberry scented poison, condemning all the other girls around her into being.. ugly. She doesn't care. She is perfect.

She is pretty. She is pretty. She is pretty. She is pretty.

Evening gowns command everyone's attention if worn by the right person. In her eyes, Serveta was the only right person. She twirls backstage in her red strapless evening gown. Her mother gave it her and she wears it with pride. Her mother was gorgeous in it, and she is just so if not more. She does one more twirl before heading out on the stage to make love to the crowd and the judges. "I am pretty" She whispers. First step. Camera flash.

The problem with being overly confident in your own abilities, you never see your own flaws, or the abilities of another contestant. And the moment you see someone point one percent better than you, your whole world crashes down and you become ugly in your own eyes.

_But I am pretty, But I am pretty, But I am pretty_

Your mantra is replaced with doubt. Your prayer is not answered, why should you believe in yourself. You begin to doubt, and then you break, and with this break a realization occurs.

_I am pretty... Just not pretty enough. Not pretty enough. Not pretty enough. Not. Pretty. Enough. NOT. PRETTY. ENOUGH. NOT. PRETTY. ENOUGH. _

Self hating thoughts that lead you into a near by family bathroom, door locked and mirror cracked. Serveta stares at her dishevelled reflection in this cracked mirror. Her make up had ran down her face from crying. She looks ugly, older, and tired. She pulls at her hair, is this reflection really her? The confident woman that would make love to a panel of judges by just simply waving her hand or giving a simple wink. Was this really her? No! This ugly creature could never be her. She pulls her fist all the way back and for a split second her image changes. It was uglier.. Its older.. She has wrinkles, and laugh lines.. Her once beautiful evening gown is barely staying on her sagging breast.

CRACK! Bits of glass fall to the ground along with a few droplets of blood. Serveta removes her bleeding fist from the destroyed mirror. Her ugly old reflection is gone. She stumbles back and eyes her damaged hand. No big deal.. She doesn't need to be too pretty for the talent portion.

When you are on stage with your fellow contestants, you have to wonder to yourself.. Do you stand out among them? And if you do.. Is it for a good reason, or a bad one?

Serveta stands and smiles her perfect smile.

_Don't call my name to soon. Wait 'til the end! Please God! Please!_

It is this moment when everyone finds their religion. No one wants their name to be called first but everyone wants their name to be called. Some prayers will be answered while others find that their God has not come to their aide.

Serveta's hands are drenched and sweat and her prayers are echoing through out her brain she barely misses the signal for her to exit off the stage as they name the Main title of Miss Sweden.

Back stage she can't breathe. Her heart is pounding. Her mind is racing.

They say the name, and time stops. Its not hers. It's not hers. IT'S NOT HERS.

_I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, _

_I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, _

_I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, _

_I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, _

_I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, _

_I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, _

_I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, _

_I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, _

_I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, _

_I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, I am not pretty, _

Serveta to busy stuck in her own world she does not hear the swarm of women calling out to her. She sees them, she sees them laughing at her disgusting image, she just doesn't hear them. Everything is silent.. no muffled. She cant hear anything over her reflection laughing at her. How dare she think she is pretty, how dare she see anything beside the ugly old hag she will become. How dare she, how dare she!

It takes some one violently shaking her to bring her out of her stupor. She is shocked and they are talking all at once, what is going on. They give up on talking and push her out on stage. Immediately an applause hits her ears. Why is she out here... she didn't win. In the corner she sees a girl sobbing and cops escorting her out. Wasn't her name called?

She is motioned to step upon the podium. She stands and she stares out at the crowd. They keep clapping, they keep cheering, they keep whistling.

She still stares as they place the sash around her and the crown on top of her head. Her face twitches into a smile. Its not her real smile with the tiny wrinkle of her nose, its forced, but nonetheless it is still pretty. She waves to the crowd with here cut up hand, its soft and sloppy, but its there. The crowd goes wild and they don't notice a difference. She does. She can tell its fake and forced, that it is not pretty or flawless.

And when she accepts her bouquet of flowers she whispers to the beautiful petals

"I am pretty. I am pretty. I am pretty."

But her mind argues and her ugly reflection laughs at her. And her thoughts contrast with what her mouth is saying.

_I am not pretty enough to win this on my own. I am not pretty enough. Not pretty enough. Not pretty enough. Not. Pretty. Enough. NOT. PRETTY. ENOUGH. NOT. PRETTY. ENOUGH. _


End file.
